Christmas dinner at the girls' house. Brooke was kind enough to cook the whole meal for everyone and then spent the next 48 hours depressed and in a foul mood because she missed her family during the holidays. That's what she gets for cooking Yorkshire pudding. Speaking of fowl, New Zealand apparently doesn't do turkey, so the Gables staff dissected a chicken instead. I love fowl. It almost made up for the fact that I like only half of the crew at the table.
Taiwan doesn't do Christmas, of course, so the dinner coupled with my awesome elf hat is the closest Bonnie will likely ever get to the North Pole in her life.
See above. 
Hanpus does a lot of pink. He says Swedes love pink. I told him it takes a real man to be able to pull it off. Then suggested that he consider switching colors. He just growled like he wanted to eat me.
What you don't see is the 23 year old Playboy Bunny just out of the picture to the right. It explains the face. That's a lie, I'm actually quite deep in thought. Solving the Pakistani political crisis, while pimpin' the Keebler costume. A jack of all trades, master of none...
I'm tempted to go on the Internet, buy two of these, convert to a fundamentalist sect of Mormonism, move to Provo, and name our kids Jezebel, Ruth, Ezekiel, and Sarah. 
I wore that hat for 12 hours straight. That means that I was 10 minutes away from moving to Munchkinland and joining the Lollipop League.
Downtown Russell, Christmas night. Or a picture of Ursa Major. No, it's definitely downtown Russell. What it says is, "it's raining. The humans are dead." Think the movie "28 Days" and you've got the picture of what town looked like on Christmas. Deader than disco.
At this point, I'm running home, because it's so dark and eerie that I'm pretty positive that some wild animal lurks in the darkness ready to pounce. And you think I'm kidding. Nobody would've heard me yell. They were all passed out in their own vomit. Christmas in Russell!
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